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Though France's fields went mad with flowery foam

And Blanc put on a special majesty,

Not all could match the growing thought of home
Nor tempt to exile. Look I not on Rome—
This ancient, modern, mediæval queen—
Yet still sigh westward over hill and dome,
Imperial ruin and villa's princely scene

Lovely with pictured saints and marble gods

serene.

REFLECTION.

Rome, Florence, Venice-noble, fair and quaint, They reign in robes of magic round me here; But fading, blotted, dim, a picture faint,

With spell more silent, only pleads a tear. Plead not! Thou hast my heart, O picture dim! I see the fields, I see the autumn hand Of God upon the maples! Answer Him

With weird, translucent glories, ye that stand Like spirits in scarlet and in amethyst!

I see the sun break over you: the mist

On hills that lift from iron bases grand

Their heads superb!-the dream, it is my native land.

WILLIAM DOUW SCHUYLER-LIGHTHALL.

CANADA.

O CHILD of Nations, giant-limbed,
Who stand'st among the nations now,
Unheeded, unadored, unhymned,

With unanointed brow:

How long the ignoble sloth, how long
The trust in greatness not thine own?
Surely the lion's brood is strong

To front the world alone!

How long the indolence, ere thou dare
Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame;
Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear
A nation's franchise, nation's name?

The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,

These are thy manhood's heritage!

Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher The place of race and age.

I see to every wind unfurled

The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath; Thy swift keels furrow round the world Its blood-red folds beneath;

Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;
Thy white sails swell with alien gales;
To stream on each remotest breeze

The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.

O Falterer, let thy past convince
Thy future: all the growth, the gain,
The fame since Cartier knew thee, since
Thy shores beheld Champlain !

Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm! Quebec, thy storied citadel

Attest in burning song and psalm
How here thy heroes fell!

O Thou that bor'st the battle's brunt

At Queenstown, and at Lundy's Lane: On whose scant ranks but iron front The battle broke in vain!

Whose was the danger, whose the day,
From whose triumphant throats the cheers,
At Chrysler's Farm, at Chateauguay,
Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?

On soft Pacific slopes,-beside

Strange floods that northward rave and fall, Where chafes Acadia's chainless tide,Thy sons await thy call.

They wait; but some in exile, some

With strangers housed, in stranger lands;
And some Canadian lips are dumb
Beneath Egyptian sands.

O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields
Before us; thy most ancient dreams
Are mixed with far Canadian fields

And murmur of Canadian streams.

But thou, my Country, dream not thou!
Wake, and behold how night is done,-
How on thy breast, and o'er thy brow,
Bursts the uprising sun!

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS.

WHAT IS THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND?

WHAT is the German's fatherland?

Is it Prussia, or the Swabian's land?
Is it where the grape glows on the Rhine?
Where sea-gulls skim the Baltic's brine?
Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?
Bavaria, or the Styrian's land?
Is it where the Master's cattle graze?
Is it the Mark where forges blaze?
Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?
Westphalia? Pomerania's strand?
Where the sand drifts along the shore?
Or where the Danube's surges roar?
Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?
Now name for me that mighty land!
Is it Switzerland? or Tyrols, tell;-
The land and people pleased me well!
Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?
Now name for me that mighty land!

Ah! Austria surely it must be,
So rich in fame and victory.

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?
Tell me the name of that great land!
Is it the land which princely hate
Tore from the Emperor and the State?
Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?
Now name at last that mighty land!
"Where'er resounds the German tongue,
Where'er its hymns to God are sung!"
That is the land,

Brave German, that thy fatherland!

That is the German's fatherland!

Where binds like oak the claspèd hand, Where truth shines clearly from the eyes, And in the heart affection lies.

Be this the land,

Brave German, this thy fatherland!

That is the German's fatherland!

Where scorn shall foreign trifles brand, Where all are foes whose deeds offend, Where every noble soul's a friend: Be this the land,

All Germany shall be the land!

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